Headed by a Snake

Once upon a time, there was a handsome snake.

He knew not his purpose-- not his location... not even his identity.

All he knew... was that he must kill.

--for that is what predators do.

And that... is what a snake is: a preda-tor.

Anyroad, despite the snake's excellence as a preda-tor, he discovered that he was responsible for a clutch of hatchlings.

They relied on him for survival... for food and basic knowledges-- even social enrichment.

They were useless without him.

They were useless because they were all stupid.

Seven hells... the stupidity of some of them was... baffling.

Ugh.

Being a predator was not the life of selfishness the snake had hoped for. As a predator, he could easily dominate the food chain and fulfill his hedonistic desires as he pleased.

However... the snake was a proper adult.

And as an adult, he had proper responsibilities.

Thus, he did as was expected of him-- with minimal complaint.

The hatchlings, they loved him.

Of course, they did.

If they did not, he'd have left them to fend for themselves.

Exposed to the elements and to predators less kind, they'd all be inevitably and summarily killed.

--if the fates were just, they would die with great violence inflicted upon them.

And no one would miss them.

Hmph.

There were a number of hatchlings he was responsible for-- more than the snake considered reasonable.

Some hatchlings knew him as the leader of their pit.

Some saw him as a Prince.

Monarchs and chiefs, the Realm over, hailed him as a wise leader-- almost as wise as he was extraordinarily handsome.

Dealing with all the aforementioned was troublesome, of course-- and at some times ridiculous.

But... at its core, the snake lived a simple life.

He tried to keep his hatchlings safe-- within reason.

He tried to live up to their expectations and of those that relied on him.

But as time passed... there was an incident where those simple tenets became impossible.

What?

No, the murdering didn't 'catch up' to him. What does that even mean?

Tss. There was *nothing* wrong in the snake's ability to murder. He murdered just fine-- and honestly, I'm rather insulted that you'd insinuate otherwise.

But anyroad-- the expectations on the snake grew heavier with each quest completed.

And among the hatchlings, there were deaths... unforeseeable, unexpected, and unacceptable deaths.

And soonafter, the predator amongst predators encountered an insurmountable wall.

--something he could not reasonably murder.

It wasn't an idea. He was confident in murdering ideas.

It was not a god. He'd murdered gods in the past.

It was... something that did not exist.

That is to say... it was not merely an improbable existence, but one that flagrantly ignored the laws of nature and all things magic. It spat in the face of constants like causality, time, and space.

It was entropy... it was chaos... yet not merely the opposite of continuity and order.

The existence... the concept of what the snake feared-- it was not meant to be understood.

He could not explain it in words-- nor were words ever designed to explain such.

Nonetheless, a word was fabricated.

They called it... a dragon.

The snake did not like the term.

A word... an understood combination of sounds that represented an idea, could never be enough; it was a gross oversimplification, a woeful inadequacy juxtaposed to its actual meaning.

And worse still, that which the snake feared were but the wisps of a shadow of something even greater, above and beyond.

To add to the confusion, there also existed mammoth-sized lizards.

They often hid in caves buried in the depths or bored into high cliffs. Some had four or six legs. One or more claws. Many had dangerously bad oral hygiene or could drink and expel the equivalent of two of water.

And the people called *these* dragons.

As hideous as they were, they were not. They were fakes.

The snake had murdered these fakes, before-- overgrown lizards with wings, scaled pretenders that infused magic into forceful breaths.

A fake dragon had a physical form, comprehensible by mere mortals. A fake dragon's blood ran red-- even if it filled rivers and lakes, such a beast could be killed.

But... even the thought of facing a real dragon...

No.

Dragons were existences to be avoided, at all costs.

A dragon was a flood that drowned the world, darkness that swallowed the sky, a winter that lasted ten thousand years... an unrelenting plague ravenous for souls.

The snake could carve lines into sheer rock with his tail. A dragon's tail could level mountains.

The snake's scales could resist blades and arrows. A dragon had naught to fear from siege weaponry and large-scale magical bombardments.

The snake could command the leaders of the five nations to heed his warnings.

A dragon could cripple each of their armies with a single breath... bring them to heel with a flap of their wings...

The only thing the snake had that the dragon did not...

...was his handsome physical appearance.

As a whole, dragons were monstrous grotesques, loathsome and wretched.

Admittedly, though, that is a wildly unfair comparison.

Dragons.

Impenetrable defenses against martial and magical attacks. Offensive capabilities comparable to entire armies or full-scale, offensive-magic formations. Flight. Striking fear and nausea in the hearts of mortals due to their natural looks.

Worst of all, all that was describing the weakest of the abominations.

However...

The snake was an adult.

Thus, responding to the draconic threat was... a responsibility-- and it was one he was uniquely qualified to take.

Despite the number of hatchlings lost... those that remained continued to trust in him.

They did not know better.

Of course, they knew that something had to be done. Someone had to act. If there was any possibility in saving the Realm, it was a reasonable plan of action, no matter the risk.

One hatchling, in particular, seemed rather lost without his guidance.

Granted, she was certainly pretending. She was a rather strong-willed hatchling with both the strength and experience to command the situation with competence.

That she seemed reluctant to... was a curious notion.

However... it mattered not.

On her behalf... that snake... that foolish, weak-willed, and gullible snake... was going to fight against the lizard god.

Of course, he was doomed to fail... but it was inevitable that he would try.

Still, he didn't want to think about it until *after* he got a Flamescarred nap.

--something he still did not have.

What did he get instead?

He got a fussy hatchling who cried in his arms until that kind, overly patient snake told her a story.

She even fell asleep halfway through.

Hah...

But still... he was glad for it.

She deserved a decent rest.

And the snake she relied on-- the snake that seemingly everyone relied on would quietly take responsibility.

...

⟬ A few bells later... ⟭

Tycondrius twirled and untwirled a lock of Natalya's scarlet hair.

He poked at her full lips.

...He booped her on the nose.

For whatever reason, that was what caused her to stir.

"Mmm... What... what time is it?" She muttered.

"Good evening, Lady Crucis. It's about time for dinner."

Natalya shook her head lazily as she adjusted herself. She embraced Tycon without reservation and began to complain into his shoulder.

"I dun' feel so great... Can we skip it?"

"No."

Tycon hated skipping meals.

Natalya lifted her head, squeaking out a yawn... "Let's... skip the meeting, then?"

The Archbishop's honesty was refreshing. Meetings were dreadfully boring. The one scheduled would be particularly painful, as the primary discussion would be on stopgap measures against the coming cataclysm.

Unfortunately, such topics warranted an open discussion amongst the powers of the continent.

"No, Natalya," Tycon chided softly. "We must speak with the others. Together, as one, our options increase dramatically."

He motioned toward the table, "I wrote something for you while you were asleep. It's to clear your head."

Suddenly, Tycon felt Natalya stiffen. Her eyes widened as if affected by a sudden fear.

"I... wh... what are you doing??!" Said the Archbishop through clenched teeth.

"...You'll have to be more specific."

"Your arms."

Tycon raised an eyebrow. His arms were loosely wrapped around Natalya's back.

"Ah. I've been preventing you from throwing yourself off the couch for the past few bells."

"L-let go of me!!"

Natalya pushed away, struggling out of Tycon's embrace.

And, in doing so, she threw herself off of the couch and onto the floor tiles.

"Ow!"

"...Are you alright?"

"Yes, no thanks to you!" Natalya scowled as she rubbed her shoulder...

She fixed her sitting posture on the floor, then took the Spell scroll off the nearby table. Scanning its contents, she recited the activation line, then closed to eyes to allow the cleansing magic to take effect.

"Tycon," She said in a soft voice... "You said... that you were gonna help me?"

"You can help *yourself* with proper hydration," Tycon mused. "And that means water, Natalya, not more alcohol."

The Archbishop did not appear amused, "What does 'help' mean, Tycon?"

"...The spell you just activated-- it's a basic restorative, modified from a classical Tyrion design. Thus, you'll need to eat a decent meal to--"

"Tycon."

"...Yes, Natalya?"

"Did we... did we have s*x?"

Tycon narrowed his eyes. What did that have to do anything?

"Not yet, no," He responded honestly.

"Then... why?" Natalya asked, wide-eyed. "Why would you help? You don't have anything to gain?"

Tycon, of course, had plenty to gain. However, he thought it unseemly to call attention to that fact.

Thus, he chose to provide the Archbishop with a pleasant half-truth.

"Because you asked me to."

His words took effect immediately, a lovely flush spreading on her face, neck, and upper arms.

"⌈Aspect of Castiel.⌋"

In several flashes of divine light, Natalya retrieved her discarded clothes, put them on, and unsealed the magic protecting the room.

"I'll see you after dinner," Tycon waved.

Though he was certain the blur of light that was Natalya had heard him, she did not respond. Once the doors to the guest room blasted open with magical force, she sped off, weaving through the hallways of the Smith manor at record speed.

...The Archbishop had appeared to use a Third-Circle haste-type Spell. The highest level of Spell that humans had to offer, condensed and localized to dramatically propel a single person to superhuman levels... and Natalya had cast it to escape an awkward situation.

Tycon shrugged his shoulders.

With similar resources and if he judged the situation appropriate, he'd have probably done the same.